


ObiLee Second Anniversary Fic

by gin_dokis



Series: ObiLee [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Self-Insert, Selfship, anniversary fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_dokis/pseuds/gin_dokis
Summary: Not part of our canon, but a fic i wanted to get out regardless about a couple of firsts for Obito and I. Written in second person, but make no mistake--this is a shameless selfship fic.





	ObiLee Second Anniversary Fic

He enters the room you’ve shared with him for the past year in that soundless way of his, something you would probably only be able to detect if you were also a shinobi. The darkness glows slightly around the sharingan peeking through his mask, and you smile at him, standing to pull him into an embrace. “Obito.”

He allows this, arms slowly moving to circle your much smaller form. The cold ridge of his mask presses into the side of your throat where he tucks his chin but you don’t complain—he has been behind the mask for so long you know better than to ever try to push him out before he’s ready. Instead, you twist to press a kiss to the warm skin at the juncture of his shoulder and throat, whispering excitedly, “I cooked something! I know you’re not very familiar with Western foods, but I made a cake and some rolls from scratch! There’s some spaghetti too, although I’m not sure if the spices on that will be something you enjoy.” Nervously you begin to pick at the already-weeping skin around your fingers, waiting for his response. He notes this and laces his fingers with yours, forcing you to stop. 

“Shall we, then?” 

His voice is soft, and you feel the tension begin to leave your body in waves as you make your way to the tiny kitchen where a decent spread for two people was laid out. “I’m really glad that you made it home in time, the bread is its very best when it’s warm.”

He pulls your chair out for you without hesitation, and you feel a flush begin to overtake your cheeks at the causal show of gentleness. 

When he eats this time, rather than turning away, he twists his mask up halfway so that you can see the bottom half of his face—nose to chin. You do your best to stifle a startled noise in your throat, watching the way his lips close over the cluster of thin noodles. There is scarring on the right side of his face, deep ridges that create a rippling pattern in the skin and this is what you assume necessitates the mask in his mind. However, it does nothing to halt the intense fluttering that’s jumpstarted in your stomach. You feel your cheeks growing uncomfortably hot as he takes another bite, and force yourself to look down at your own food, suddenly hyperaware of how _obvious_ you must be. Not that you hadn’t slept together before, but…

He proceeds as if nothing is different, though you can feel his appraising eye on you. Fighting to distract from your flustered expression you manage to hiss out a strangled, “So, how was your day?” 

Before even a half-second has passed, the mask is back in place and he’s turning to leave. Horrible nausea drops into your stomach, and you move as fast as you can to reach for him as he strides toward the door. Tears are audibly welling in your voice, despite your attempt to sound calm. “Wait, what did I do wrong?” 

He’s silent for a moment, refusing to turn to look at you. His voice is just as close to tears, a tone you’d never heard from him before except when he’d described the events of his past with Kakashi and Rin. “I saw you. You can’t even look at me.” 

“No! No, no no no!” you protest blindly, horrified that _this_ was how he’d taken it, that you’d reacted in such a way to ever make him feel like this even if accidentally. “I—” you do your best to stifle the blush, but it rises again anyway. “It’s just the way you were eating, your lips, I…I never imagined I’d be so…I was trying not to be horny at the supper table.” Your voice is barely a whisper by the end, but you know his keen ears have heard it. “I wasn’t looking away because I don’t think you’re attractive, it’s just the opposite. In just a few seconds you made me—” you pause, unsure if it would be appropriate to admit but unwilling to let his assumption stand. “God I feel like a horny teenager. I got wet just from watching you slurp a noodle.” Your hands come unbidden to your face, covering the red ridges of your cheeks. “You can feel for yourself if you want, or you can use your sharingan to genjutsu it out of me if you don’t believe me.” 

He’s silent for another long moment before he turns back to face you, and sees the tears shimmering in your eyes. The tone he takes is incredulous, but you do your best not to let yourself be upset by it. “Why are you crying?”

“I was afraid I hurt you, that you would leave. I don’t want to mess up, you’re way too important to me. You deserve to feel as lovely as you are.” Now that you’ve admitted this, the crying begins in earnest and you sink to your knees, releasing his arm and gathering yourself into a ball to sob. “God I’m so stupid, this isn’t about me at all. I can’t believe I made you think that, I should have—” 

“Shh.” He mutters, scooping you off the floor and carrying you back to the bedroom. He settles onto the bed and you sit together, shoulders shaking in an offset unison. You turn to look at him, pulling your sleeve down to wipe his chin, the only place available with the mask in place, and are startled to realize he’s unfastening the strap. “I don’t know why this is so hard for me…we’ve already started to bind ourselves with the sacred jutsu, I…I trust you.” His hand shakes, so you reach to help steady it. 

“Hey, you don’t have to prove anything to me. Things are allowed to be hard and you’re allowed to take them at your own pace.” 

“I am.” 

And with that, the orange division, one that had kept you separated for so long, drops from his hand to the floor. 

You take in his face with a low, choked gasp. His lips had been intoxicating before, but now, paired with the slope of his nose and the crinkle of his eyes you feel yourself beginning to flush again. “O-Oh my god how the _fuck_ are you so hot it’s not _fair_ ,” you hiss, feeling yourself growing hotter and hotter. 

He sits in silence for a moment before reaching to tug at the chain on the lamp. The room falls into darkness, though the moon peeking around the curtains provides faint outlines. “Is this alright?”

You nod, hoping that he can see better in the dark than you can. Your fingers slowly skim up along his arm before settling in the hair at the back of his neck, thumbs rubbing softly at the tense muscles to either side. “Obito, I—”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

The suggestion sends the most lovely dose of adrenaline coursing through you, and you hum agreement without hesitation despite the intense flustering he was providing. So often you were the one to initiate contact, to save him the emotional toll of the perceived risk of rejection when you knew what he thought of himself, so to have him ask before you can yourself is pleasantly jarring. 

His hand slowly reaches out to cup your cheek, palm extremely warm even against the flushed skin. _Is he sweating?_ You had no time to consider this possibility, because in the next moment he’d closed the gap and his lips had taken yours. 

He tasted faintly of the spaghetti sauce, faintly of the sweet dango he’d eaten on the way home, and beneath it all there was a delectable flavor very uniquely _his._ You whimpered at the warm press of his lips, at the way they molded against your own with gentle insistence. You pressed back against him, fingers tightening in his hair and breath beginning stutter. 

A quiet groan meets your ears and you feel your stomach clench in acute interest, thighs rubbing slightly together. You pull back just far enough to murmur, “Obito, please, please, wanna feel you, you make me so hot I can’t stand it.”

There is less hesitation in his movements this time, and he rolls, gingerly pinning you to the mattress. The thick muscle of his chest against yours, coupled with the kiss, makes you whimper and you wiggle to spread your legs for him. 

He settles there, and you can feel his cock is rigid through his pants. He’d been an exceptional lover before but now, with the emotional tension running so high paired with his kisses you felt cast completely beyond that level of connection. “Obito, please fuck me, please.”

“Is that really what you want?” his voice is low with arousal but still tinged with a hint of fear, of insecurity. Your heart aches at the thought of his self-consciousness, of his inability to see the sincerity or intensity of the desire you had for him.

You push his chest, directing him to lie back. “I’m gonna show you just how badly I want you, just how lovely I think you are inside and out.” The determination in your tone throws him, but he lies still and allows you to unzip his pants to free his cock. 

It springs to attention against your nose, and minimal preliminaries you take him between your lips with a wet slurp. His hands claw at the sheets to either side, doing his best even in his state of mindless pleasure to avoid pulling your hair. You push him more firmly against the entrance of your throat, sucking harder and whining around his length in excitement when he finally lets out a groan of approval. 

You’re about to take him deeper, to try in earnest to make him cum when you’re suddenly being pushed back to look into the spinning wheel of his sharingan breathlessly. “Hey, I wanted my reward.”

“Are you really pouting about not being allowed to swallow? You’re so weird.” He’s just as winded as you are, but he presses you back down into the mattress, reaching down to pull your lounge pants off. “If you really want this, then. Then I’m ready. If you’re sure you really want me.”

“I want you more fervently than I’ve ever wanted anything before and I love you more ardently than I knew I was capable of,” you reply without the slightest pause, pulling him down for another heated kiss. “I want you now, I want you tomorrow and in every day and life after. You’re my dream come true and your soul heals mine by virtue of simple proximity.” 

“Fuck,” he growls, reaching down to slide his finger through the wet slit of your pussy. “You weren’t kidding.”

You shake your head, tense with anticipation. This would be the first time you’d ever been allowed to make love without the mask, the first time you’d been able to truly kiss him without a barrier. And he was even more beautiful than you’d ever imagined. You find yourself expressly thankful for his appreciation for begging, for a talkative partner. “Please, Obito. Please?”

He nods, burying his face against the side of your neck as he slowly slides home and sheathes himself within you. His length is thick, but not painfully so, and he fills you so completely that you’re unable to bite back the whine that leaves you, clenching around him.

He groans against your throat, beginning to move with increasing speed. “Shit, I’m not—it’s—I wanted it to be longer than this.” He begins to kiss you there, along your pulse point, down your clavicle; anywhere he could while still hiding his face. 

You lean forward, kissing his shoulder when you’re able and crying out his name when you’re not. “I love you. I love you so fucking much I can’t handle it—”

Your words cut off as you feel him stiffen, hand sliding between you to nudge rhythmically against your clit. This is all that it takes and you’re with him, falling and howling his name in the darkness with your hands gripping his to keep some semblance of anchor to reality. 

The moment begins to settle and you lie there together, sweaty and spent for a few moments before he rolls, zipping his pants and pulling your back to his chest. His lips press to the back of your neck, just above the bump of your spine, and he murmurs, “I never imagined, not even in my wildest dreams…”

You know exactly what he means without his saying. The intensity of your connection, though you felt it every day, had startled you too when it was brought into direct consideration. “Yeah, me either.”


End file.
